The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1887-11-19

it is rather long way. l took the road
by the sea. On my left hand were the
bare brown woods, on my right the gorse-
covered cliffs, with few yellow blossoms.
On the denes below the fishermen's nets
were spread out to dry, the red sails that L
knew so well dotted the sea, and far out l
saw the line of white foam where the sand
bank rises, and the red lightship to mark
the Cat The village far on before me
seemed unchanged, and the long heaGland
stretched dimly out to the north, with It's
shadowy towers and windmills All 1 saw
was unchanged; but the people l met were
strange to me, and was strange to them.
| cannot tell you how eager was to reach
the drive which leads from the cliffs to
the house. l ran the last few hundred
yards. l found the gate hanging off its
hinges and broken in several places. l
went through
"The drive looked as if it had been un-
used foryears. There were no wheel tracks,
no footprints; the grass and weeds had
grown up over the gravel; in one place a fir
tree had been partly blown down, the un-
der branches were dead, the upper ones
green. 1t must have lain unheeded for
years. | passed on. l could see little Of
the house through the leafess trees. 1t
was weather-stained and chilly hooking,
The gate leading into the shrubbery wac
locked, it had been spiked at the top to
keep out trespassers, but the hedge was
broken down in many places, so went in
through gap.
/ H'chpre WAS No ono m ha
living creature, except some rabbits, which
started up from the rank grass and ran
away as passed. / saw some shrubs which
| remembered my father planting the year
| left him; some of them had grown up into
great, struggling, untrimmed bushes; some
were dead, and still stood in their places,
with grass and weeds clinging to them.
"Then | came to the garden-it was also
desolate and overgrown with weeds; gravel
walks, flower borders, and lawn were un-
distinguishable. But still l went on to the
door, the trelliswork of the veranda was
blown down, the paint had peeled off with
long neglect, the handle of the door bell
fcame off in my hand. The shutters were
all closed; the place was utterly deserted
But went still further-to the conserva-
tory door, by which had left the house
ten years ago. saw a few flower pots
lying in the conservatory, and on the edge
of the fountain, which was now dried up,
sat huge toad
II crouched down on the steps and buried
my face in my hands. 1 dared not think
what had become of my dear, loving father
l kept saying aloud to myself the words of
penitence l had meant to say TO him. At
last looked up and saw the red light
through the trees that always shines in
that garden when the sun is sinking 1t
was shining just as it had shone when l
was happy child, and when the garden
was bright and full of flowers. thought
how each sunset had come and found the
home more and more desolate, till now it
was a mere desert. Suddenly the light
died out, and 1 started from my seat and
ran away in horror. hurried back to
London, and you remember how soon after
fell i'll, and all that has happened since"
"Oh, nanny" cried Daisy, who had re-
mained marvelously quiet all this time,
"what a dreful thing, and what do you
think has become of your father? Shall
we try and find him again ?"
81 don't know, my pet" she answered
sadly, 'what has become of him. The
only person l questioned was a stranger,
who knew nothing about him. had not
courage to ask again. When l a.n quite
strong you must help me to look for him.
Then, speaking more to herself than TO
Daisy, she said: at was dreadful going
home; after all my repentance and prayers
to find no forgiveness. wonder it did
not kill me-"
No forgiveness My poor repentant
darling. Who needed the most forgive
ness? 1 wondered And yet my very
hiding place had found me out. This was
the why and wherefore of it all. Thus a
divinity had shaped the end for me in spite
of my rough hewing, and in the movings
and changings of nomadic humanity the
willful daughter had drifted back to the
side of her perverse old father,
Lingdene is almost itself again now, and
my widowed Margaret has recovered her
strength and courage again in the bright
sea air of her native home. Daisy runs in
and out of her mothers old haunts and
amuses herself in the old garden she loved
to hear of. She has left off calling me tho
cross old man, though she sometimes re-
minds me of the name when she is in an
unusually saucy humor